I write: when life is not a poem

Anatomy of a Virgin

Eyes that had seen the nothingness in everything
Tousled hair of tangled nightmares
Sensible ears secretly vulnerable to all silences
Nose devoid of all seductive scents
Lips in different shades everyday, but only kissed by the very air she breathes

Unmarred neck, like a lone lighthouse on a beach no one visited
Shoulder blades that never rubbed against anyone
Pointless bulging breasts that has never been anybody’s base
The navel which was forever kept hidden by the skirts of decency
Waistlines unexposed, hips that never knew sensuality
Legs, too weak from unrequited desire
Knees that were never bandaged by anyone when it bled

Hands that would always be strangers to a firm grasp
Feet that never sojourned uncharted places
Head, empty of adventures, of imagination
And a shapeless heart
Forever incapable of sweet, reckless heartbeats